Consequence
by Blobfishington
Summary: Marco doesn't like to be called old. So how does he prove to a certain Siren that he isn't? Well, he could be energetic... MarcoxOc, for Kira H.! Enjoy!


Sounds of festivities were littering the air. Below the moon, the Moby Dick was the only life upon the monotony of the dark ocean waters. The ship's occupants were partying, something which occurred almost daily. It was the same routine; travel by day, loot a ship or two, start drinking, and by the end of the day all of the Whitebeard pirates were drunk. The only exceptions were a few of the nurses who were in charge of the night shift. And, of course, Siren.

But Siren didn't need to intoxicate herself to have fun. She kept herself fairly entertained by performing magic tricks for Ace and a crowd of the others; something about how easily impressed they were made her feel satisfaction of sorts. Enough to make her chuckle every time they exclaimed in amazement as she pulled a rabbit out of an empty hat.

Tonight, however, her usual audience was too preoccupied with some silly competition (something involving spoons and eggs). She found herself wandering the deck absently, eyebrows raised to their usual spots at the top of her forehead. While strolling, a loud yawn caught her attention. She turned, curious, to see the source of it.

The all too familiar figure of Marco sat plopped on the ground, half-lidded eyes watering (presumably from yawning). Siren blinked.

"Tired already, sir?" she drawled, placing her hand on her hip. Marco looked up at the young witch.

"It's getting late, eh. Can't help it." He shrugged.

"No one else seems tired." She continued. "Not even your captain."

"Of course they ain't tired, they're drunk."

"And young."

Marco tilted his head to the side, a slight frown aggravating his face. "Meaning?"

"Meaning young people can actually withstand staying up late. Like your mates."

Marco narrowed his eyes, head never un-tilting. "You calling me old?"

"Well," she casually flicked a lock of hair out of her face. "You certainly are older than myself."

A smile ascended her cheeks in its languid way as Marco let out an indignant scoff.

"I'm not that old, eh." As if it would prove him right, he stood up. Siren peered at him in amusement, droopy eyes blinking very deliberately.

"Getting mighty defensive, aren't you, sir?" she said with a playful chime.

"I am not, eh." The Commander's eyebrow twitched.

"If you say so, sir." She hummed, walking away from the irate man. He blinked, deciding to follow her.

"I thought I told yah to stop with the 'sir' crap." He caught up with her easily, folding his arms over his chest.

"What am I supposed to call you, then?"

"Marco. That is my name, eh."

"I'll call you Mr. Marco." She called as she went below deck.

"Don't." he followed still, wondering where she was going.

"Why?"

"That would make me feel _really_ old."

"So…? We've already established that you are indeed old." Siren restrained from laughing at the look on his face.

"We established that I'm not _that_ old." He countered gruffly.

"Regardless, you're older than myself. It would be very disrespectful for me to call you Marco." She smiled a small smile, making a turn into one of the hallways.

"We're friends, aren't we? It's alright if you call me Marco." He frowned. Siren didn't respond, instead choosing to space out. They walked side by side for a few minutes, quiet. Marco was staring at her (quite openly); he never noticed how thick her hair was. Each caramel lock gently wavered down to her slim waist. They shone in the dim lighting of the hallway, making the color lighter than it was. The brown tone of her hair, he saw, matched her droopy, hazel eyes pleasantly. Upon closer inspection, Marco spotted a tan line on the edge of her nose (most likely because of her glasses) and a small freckle underneath her ear. In a subtle way she was, he decided, pretty.

A sudden idea popped into his head. With a smirk, he draped his arm around her shoulders. The sudden unexpected contact made her jump. Her eyes focused on him, alarmed.

"I can prove I'm not old." He stated.

"It really bothers you, doesn't it…?" Siren was uncomfortably aware of how good his muscled body felt against hers. She remained impassive, however, and stared determinedly at his face.

"Well," he softly, discreetly, caressed the smooth skin of her shoulder. "It honestly does, eh."

He pressed his lips against hers, hoping she wouldn't pull away. On the contrary, startled as she was, Siren leaned into it. Encouraged, Marco pressed harder, pulling her body closer. She responded fervently, hands sliding up his chiseled chest before wrapping themselves around his neck. Her lips felt soft, like plump little cushions or feather-stuffed pillows.

Marco, now holding her by the waist, ran his fingers along the question mark curve of her spine. The resulting chills gave him some sense of gratification. He did it again, enjoying how each time the young witch would press her body further against his, trying to avoid the ticklish sensation. At one point she even let out a small squeak, not at all audible by anyone but him. It made him laugh on the inside.

Of course, Siren wasn't the type to just put up with this assault. She pulled herself away from his lips, dropping her hands back to his chest. Without a moment's hesitation she started planting kisses along his jaw line, sucking and nibbling in a non-too-soft manner. Her hands, with their smooth and long expertise, found their way under his shirt, outlining every bump, form, and crevice within reach. A tingling spike lingered after each spot touched; he fidgeted in pleasure, wanting it to stop but at the same time hoping for more.

At some point he felt her warm breath brushing his neck. Promptly afterwards he felt a very soft, moist peck taking hold of his earlobe. He inhaled a small patch of air, hands absently stroking her back. Siren moved slow, yet with rhythm, massaging her tongue against it; at times she pressed hard, sinking her teeth in; at other times she did the opposite, suckling in so delicate a fashion it made his heart race in anticipation.

Remembering his idea Marco, reluctant, but determined, pulled himself apart from Siren. He looked her straight in the eye, the corner of his lip lifted up. Without a word he held her by the hand and led her into one of the empty bedrooms. She stared in mild interest as he locked the door.

The pair sat on top of the bed, merely observing one another. Though there were no sounds, Marco thought the room to be noisy with the vibes of exhaled breaths, retained patience, excitement. He closed his eyes, confident, and proceeded to kiss her again. She accepted as she did the first time, feeling a heat flush her skin when rough hands crawled themselves beneath her clothes. It intensified as he let his tongue into her mouth, daring to drive its passionate self into the deep cavern.

Siren pulled herself against the First Commander, wanting to delete any gap, any exposure between their bodies. She let her own fall down onto the bed, bringing his body to land on top of it, wanting to be crushed under his weight, wanting to feel covered and protected and warm. As if knowing how she felt, as if knowing what she wanted, Marco skillfully removed her shirt. He quickly left her mouth in favor for her now bare breasts, the tantalizing soft mounds of tender skin.

The gasped moan that escaped her upon feeling his lips encircle her nipple made him more fervent in his administrations; he longed to hear it again. With flicks of his tongue he toyed with the little brown nub, sometimes backing away to place soft kisses on the tip. Each thing done to it triggered more little gasps to leave her. She could feel her chest heave, flinching but ecstatic. Her throat was dry. She was having a hard time holding still.

Without warning, two sturdy fingers slipped all sly like into her moist intimacy. Her body trembled, her lungs pumped furiously for more air. She swallowed, skin hot, one hand grabbing a fistful of sheets as the other kneaded through Marco's blond hair. She could feel him smirk against her.

His fingers, at first, moved slowly, carefully, causing an unbearable intoxication to build up in the pit of her stomach. However, when her pants carelessly turned into moans and groans, the pace quickened. Marco rhythmically followed the internal path, every now and then stretching and extending his fingers, earning him a more heightened moan. With each motion, each pump, he could feel the girl's body spasm, twitch, buck; the heat radiated from her skin invitingly, the sweat dripping longingly. All the while, his lips never turned away from her breasts; he became more energetic with them, trying to taste as much of them as humanly possible.

Siren felt as though in a haze. Her body reacted in natural instinct, her heart desperate to explode. She was, in every sense of the word, overwhelmed; soaring through blissful oblivion. She reached her point when her physical being couldn't hold it in any longer.

Marco heard his name get called out, felt the warm juices submerge his fingers, and at that time felt accomplished. His manly pride made his smirk widen upon seeing her back lift in a perfect arch before slumping back down, tired, to the bed.

Sliding his fingers out, Marco hoisted himself up to Siren's level. He laid next to her, enclosing her slightly shaking body in a comfortable embrace. She kissed him with sweet affection, before snuggling against him.

"…Still think I'm old…?" he whispered into her ear.

A thoughtful pause.

"Of course I do." She hummed, closing her eyes.

Marco sighed in utter defeat.

****

**A/N- This little oneshot is dedicated to Kira Hukyuushi, who requested it. I hope you enjoyed it, Kira!**

**For any Marco fans out there, I'm sorry but I'm not turning this into a MarcoxOC. Siren is a character from my AcexOC story and will be with Ace (eventually). **


End file.
